


Soufflé girl (and cooking boy)

by hikarufly



Series: After Twelve Stories [6]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 09:24:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5780407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikarufly/pseuds/hikarufly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cookery class, shamelessly fluff and smut. Enjoy!<br/>English is not my first language :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soufflé girl (and cooking boy)

In a modern day London, on a surprisingly sunny yet windy day, Clara was entering the TARDIS with a couple of plastic bags full of stuff, and a smile on her face.

«Hello! You came!» she exclaimed.

The Doctor lowered a lever and pressed a few buttons, parking his spaceship.

«You called, seemed important.» he replied, closing the coat with an elegant movement of his hand.

«It was! I need a lift home! My car has broken down and my frozen foods are melting.» she explained, trying not to laugh and resolved to make him do what she wanted. The Doctor looked at her, puzzled at first, and then a little bit grumpy and definitely outraged.

«You made me come here just to get you back to your flat? I'm not a cabbie and this spaceship is not a taxi!» he said, offended by that disrespectful attitude.

«Please, please, please... If I take the tube and then do the rest on foot all my stuff will be wasted. If I call a cab, they will ask for too much money...» she tried to persuade him, with a very fake yet terribly sweet frown. He sighed.

«There is a kitchen here, we will store it somewhere. But since I had to come here to pick you up, we are going to do something together.» he surrendered. The Doctor was not ready to give up entirely, though, so walked her through the long corridors of the TARDIS to the big kitchen.

«I have seen this before... looks like that set in The Hitchicker's Guide to the Galaxy movie!» said Clara. «Does it do that stuff, like creating food out of your craves or on order?»

«Don't be silly, I just fancied a similar kitchen, that's all. But of course I have a light-knife to cut and toast the bread.» he added, showing the knife to her. She laughed.

«This must be the fridge...» she said, opening a small wooden door, revealing the refrigerator. Inside of it, only a few things were stored: a banana, some custard, a frozen lasagna in the coolest compartment, yogurt without bits in it (as written on the label) and a can of “bad bad beans” (as written on the label as well, but in the Doctor's handwriting).

«I bet you have a really unbalanced diet... yet you're still skinny.» she said «Is it an alien thing? If not, what's the secret?»

«I exercise, and run, as you do. Don't you?» he frowned. She put on a very naughty smile, that made him quite uncomfortable, as she was implying what kind of exercise they did, or could do, maybe together, and it wasn't exactly the one you do in the gym.

«You have an entire kitchen then...» Clara said, breaking that awkward silence, sitting on the counter and letting her legs hang down.

He looked around like he was trying not to miss any trick.

«Y-yes...»

«So... do you cook?» she asked, apparently for no particular reason.

«I have a time machine, Clara. I met many illustrious chefs of the past and the future. I can make an authentic _Sachertorte_ if I want, I just don't fancy apricot jam and the secret ingredient, that I am not telling you.» he explained, more confident now.

«Show-off» she coughed.

«What?» he asked.

«Nothing...» she replied. «Why don't you teach me how to cook?»

«You mean you can't? Did you steal that cooking machine from the future we came across on the last trip to that galaxy far far away?» inquired the Doctor.

«Of course I didn't! And of course I can cook, but... I meant proper cooking. Some not-so-secret recipes, perhaps?» she proposed, smiling and getting down from the counter. «I'll be super-cooperative.»

The Doctor didn't seem much convinced, but got to the cabinets and drawers, taking flour, eggs, sugar and other ingredients.

«No soufflés.» he specified «You were rubbish at that when you were a Dalek, imagine what you can do now that you haven't got a whisk.»

«Since you are so confident, why don't we make a _Sachertorte_?» she replied, raising an eyebrow.

«Told you, I don't like it. We can make something with chocolate, though.» he said.

Clara seemed happy enough, so he rolled up his sleeves and took some flour on a cutting board, followed by sugar and cocoa powder. He made a hole in the middle of the mixture, creating a crater, then he cracked the egg shells and let the content sink into the crater, and butter followed in small cubes. Clara observed his elegant movements and his confidence... until she squeezed between him and the counter, intertwining their fingers.

«I said teach, not show.» she declared, and the Doctor, after a moment hesitation, guided her hands between the ingredients. His head was just next to hers, cheek to cheek, his chin over her shoulder, and while he maintained a little distance between their bodies, she could almost feel the pounding of his hearts against her back, and of course not just that... she tried to pull back a little, and the Doctor blushed. She could definitely feel the heat on his cheek. She closed her eyes as their fingers were touching, weaving together and interlocking....

The mixture was getting too dry so the Doctor slipped away just to take some milk, that he poured over her hands, still working. It was a new yet interesting feeling. Clara was not really pleased by the distance but smiled at him, proud of her work, for she had finally obtained a dough.

«Now?» she asked. He got closer, and she forced him again to take the same positions as before. He showed her how to knead the dough, with the palms of her hands: their movements now were stronger and smoother, backwards and forward to the counter. She had never thought his arms could be so strong... her cheeks were the ones to flush this time, and was his turn to get closer. Her perfume was intoxicating. She had to stop, this was definitely going beyond her control. He stopped too but retrieved his hands from their dough taking hers too, embracing her from behind as to prevent her to go away.

«Clara...» he whispered, and could feel the shiver down her spine, as her eyes closed and made clear she was going nowhere, caressing his arms, the white and soft skin she was not usually allowed to see, on the control room.

«You know, I almost thought your bones were made of glass...» she said, in a murmur, as the tips of her fingers were on his wrists, feeling the nerves, the veins and arteries, tendons under the skin, moving slightly and faintly.

«Cooking was an excuse, Clara?» he asked, but was more of a statement.

«No... I wanted to do something ordinary, simple, with you.» she replied, turning into that embrace and cupping his face, caressing his cheeks with her thumbs. She smiled.

«Now you've flour on you face.» she stated.

«Well...» he replied, but fell silent when she kissed them both, slowly yet sweetly, taking that flour away. He seemed unable to do anything but stare at her. She touched his lips, but she didn't need an excuse as he did. She tasted his lips first, as his grip on her got firmer, and he slowly guided her on the counter again. Her kiss became less tentative in the blink of an eye, her tongue playing with his as his hands were exploring her thigh under her skirt. She stopped for a moment, engaging his look as to understand what was going on in his head, as anything was going on at all. He could practically hear him thinking though, and she was in his every thought, as ever before that. She smiled again, more wildly than before, demanding passionate kisses from his lips while opening his trousers and getting access to those ridiculous question-mark boxers beneath. The thing that Clara admired especially in his movements were their smoothness and elegance: she was passionate and wild, he was relentless yet deadly.

She crossed her legs around his waist, once they got rid of all immediate obstacles. His hands were only teasing her, down her spine and bottom, then her hips, inner thigh, labia and clit, while she was desperate to take him inside her. She could never gain control, maybe it was his mind working magic and his fingers miracles. Only when she started biting her lips in anticipation, scratching the scruff of his neck and begging, only then, he would gave her what she wanted. A thrust followed another, as the kitchen resonated with their moans, first slow and light, then paced faster and faster, hauled louder and louder, as they reached the climax a second apart.

«You said you want to do simple, ordinary things with me» he noted, while she was trying to regain her breath. «What is simple about making love, Clara?» he asked, truly puzzled. She put a finger on his lips, to silence him.

«Nothing, but you distract me from ordinary things... it's your fault if we end up never finishing anything.» she explained. «Now, chef from outer space... is your oven a time-travelling one? So you can cook whatever you like in seconds?» she reprised, as he slipped away from her, covering himself, and passing his fingers among his hair to try and fix it a bit, unsuccessfully.

«Stop that, or you'll be the one on the counter.» she pointed a finger at him, getting down on her feet, only just. He smiled in a very dangerous way.

«As everything on this ship, the oven is bigger on the inside... and can cook in a moment.» he clarified, getting everything ready to finish their work.

«Melted chocolate on the cake?» she asked.

«So I can blame you for distracting me?» he replied.

«I don't distract... I lure, hunt and catch. And show no mercy.»

Clara's tone was more than eloquent: the beast inside her growled with pleasure and triumph as he showed her a chocolate bar.

 


End file.
